


Leather Wings, Clasped in Iron

by Noid



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Monster!Herman, with reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 07:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17617883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noid/pseuds/Noid
Summary: Embracing youAre tanned leather wings;The wings of a king dressed in black,Who controls even darkness...- Ensemble Stars Vol. 7: Valkyrie - 魅惑劇 (Bewitching Threatre)





	Leather Wings, Clasped in Iron

There had been multiple rumors that sprouted from the depths of the villages. Most of them revolved around the same bloodline of danger; a house on the hill, deep within the lush green woods, had become possessed by a landowner that was more than meets the eye. No one really wonders what happened to the previous one, or if there even was one. The rumors of it still spread far and wide through the area. It passed from fisherman to the docks, the chef of the rich and the pastry baker of the most popular street... 

That's how you came across it. You, a young adult that had baked pastries almost a large majority of your life, managed to catch wind of the gossip that filtered through the guests. Specifically the bartender that had always ordered a chocolate scone, particularly with strawberries on one side so he could pop them into his mouth. He's a good guy but his mouth is one to cause trouble. Perhaps that's one reason why he's a bartender and not a pastry chef.

You delivered to his table on a cold, Sunday evening, when church had finally rung its bronze bells to let you leave. You and your parents never went. You didn't need to with the business. The crowds made you nervous anyway, with their mob-like intentions they had towards certain things. One of those certain things, you deemed recently, was the man that now resided up in the darkest regions of the country. It was a place where oak grew massively, the bark tougher than a Dragon's scale and the animals almost always deep within it to forage for the oncoming winter months. Most hunters went in only to come back out, bewildered and having been missing for days on end. They had come back with rabbits and boars, but that was that. They couldn't recall how.

It was eight o'clock at night. Almost everyone was in bed and 3/4's of the shops in the distract were closed due to the bitter snowfall and the need for sleep. With thoughts of what could be up in there plaguing through your head, you couldn't help but wonder if it was something absolutely intriguing. It got your blood pumping and your own need for sleep washed away like the foamy tides of the ocean. 

You knew better than to go in without any weapons or functioning light. Your grandfather, your father's dad, had always kept his old pistols from the war. Residing in the coat pockets of your father's own trench coat were a pair of 1786 flintlock pistols. Decorated with ivory stocks, the weapons generally never left the home as they were a precious memoir. But tonight they were yours, just in case you did manage to run into the beast. The oil lamp by your bedside would also do wonders. You took time to refill the glass with fuel  before venturing onward by yourself. 

The walk was, truly, a long one. The weeds prickled at your legs and snagged at any trailing clothing. Thorn bushes raked at your open skin, having no hesitation in ripping you apart. The night howled with both the wind and the wolves in the mountains. You decided to avoid the area entirely by making as best of an arch through the dead leaves of winter. If the place wasn't so dark, even with the light of the lamp, you would have probably been able to figure out where the location might have been. But you had no idea.

It was an hour before you felt it; fatigue. You hadn't found any sight of the place nor any kind of clearing that could hold a living space. The lights of the town were far behind you. You needed to go back. 

You set the oil lamp slowly on the chilled ground, feeling more exhausted with each new step. Going on was getting more and more difficult, despite your usual persistence. You leaned up against a tree and ran your hands over your face, feeling the need for sleep almost overtaking your whole body. You couldn't let it though. You either needed to find the upstart of rumors or go home. Sleeping here was more dangerous than finding yourself in the arms of a killer. Coyotes and bears were out here, surely, and you had no desire to suddenly wake up in heaven with your body strewn across the forest floor.

A breaking branch startled you out of your state. It wasn't just a simple twig that broke underfoot. This was a branch that was once heavily secured to a tree. You looked up just in time to feel rough bark bluntly hit against your skull. 

This wasn't the sleep you wanted.

* * *

There was a hand in your hair. It was the first thing you noticed. You also noticed how dark it was even when you opened your eyes. There was no light from the moon filtering through the tree leaves and there was no surrounding bugs that glowed bright. Panic bloomed brilliantly in your chest but you didn't dare sit up. The hand in your hair was one thing all on its own and you were extremely nervous to even try to move. 

The owner of the hand laughed above, sensing you were awake. It was a deep, rich sound. It was the equivalent of watching a chocolate glaze unfold over a sweet, double-tier cake. 

"Well, well, look at what's come to me. Good evening, child." You shuddered involuntarily. The hand removed itself from your scalp and you took the advantage to sit upright as fast as you could, desiring to roll away. Another hand, as strong as iron, fell on your chest. You came back down with a hiss. 

"Ah-ah," it purred, "not yet. You're still healing." A chuckle followed. It was beginning to feel like the branch to the forehead was an accident. The bruising on the right side of your head was undeniable as you could feel each heartbeat there, but you pondered the events with a sour face. You wondered if you had been bleeding. "If I were you, I would lay back down and take the chance to nap. It's past your bedtime, isn't it?"

You frowned. How dare this bastard not only keep you here against your will but how dare it talk down to you like a child? 

"Don't give me such a face." The feeling of fleshy leather suddenly scraped over your arms, circling around your body. You cringed and immediately dove a hand for the flintlock pistols, still deeply snugged in the trenchcoat. 

You found nothing. Panic rose in your chest again as your fingers feebly searched for the weapons, praying to God you could find it and use it on this damn man. The click of a pistol and the cold nose of it pressed against your cheek. You made a noise of denial, fearing moving again. A brief moment passed over you that you'd probably never smell the bakery again. 

"Looking for these? Really now, coming into my domain and trying to kill me?" The leather moved again around you, stretching. It was like touching a bat. "I don't appreciate that. I'll leave you unharmed, however. By the time morning breaches, I demand you do not return. Am I making myself clear? Don't make me drink from you like how you drink from livestock." Whatever he meant by that, he had no intentions of finding out specifically what precisely you had wanted.

The cold gun was pulled away and the hand on your chest slowly moved to press itself against your aching head. Callused fingers grazed over your skin. They also brushed along, what you finally realized, was a blindfold. Well at least you weren't bloody blind but... There was a lot of confusion that still bubbled up in your throat, threatening to spill out as screams of frustration, accusations and overall fear. You knew this man was no man but at this point there was nothing you could do. The hum of his deep-seated breathing in his chest was your only lullaby, the fatigue slowly overtaking the adrenaline you once had. 

His fingers were still gentle on your skin, rubbing the tender spot with surprising grace. You could feel sharpened nails threatening to dig into your skin, as long as talons, but even still the fingertips simply massaged at your scalp and forehead. 

As you relaxed, you asked why he wasn't killing you. 

"You are a child," he responded. "I see no point in murdering you. If you come here again, however, I won't hesitate to be a little...  _coarse._ " His purring temporarily turned into an almost animalistic hiss. It softened immediately and you took great interest in it. "Rest. You'll be home by the time you wake up."

Wait, what? You pinched your lips. You wanted to ask so much more but that bastard probably wouldn't say anything. 

You eventually drifted off into sleep, soothed gradually by the fingers pressing neatly in your skin as a lullaby sounded from his lips.

 _The ship, it swayed, heave ho, heave ho_  
_On the dark and stormy blue_  
_And I held tight to the Captain's might_  
_As he pulled up his trews_  
_"You haven't slept," heave ho, he said_  
_In many suns and moons"_  
_"Oh, I will sleep when we reach shore_  
_And pray we get there soon"_  
_He said, "Now hush love, here's your gown_  
_There's the bed, lantern's down"_  
_"But I don't want to go to sleep; in all my dreams, I drown"_

You woke up, as he said, at home with those lyrics rotating through your mind. You faked a story that you tripped while going downstairs for a drink last night once your parents questioned you.

That bruise was the only thing that explained what might have remotely happened last night. You were determined to go back without the flintlocks. 

You had to know who that was. 

 


End file.
